Breaking and Entering
by lifeaftercheckmate
Summary: Summery: "When Rossi got home, the lights were on in the kitchen and living room, and an unfamiliar car, a red Saturn convertible, sat in his driveway... The agent counted to three before flinging the the door open and bursting into the foyer. And then he stopped, a little stunned by the scene in front of him."


**B&E**

**Summery: "When Rossi got home, the lights were on in the kitchen and living room, and an unfamiliar car, a red Saturn convertible, sat in his driveway... The agent counted to three before flinging the the door open and bursting into the foyer. And then he stopped, a little stunned by the scene in front of him."**

**A/N: The beginning scene of this little oneshot got stuck in my head, so I had to let it out and see where it would go. Hope you like it. :) **

**Disclaimer: If I can figure out how to make Hotch and Rossi mine, I'll let y'all know. Until then, let's just continue to assume that I still don't own them.**

When Rossi got home, the lights were on in the kitchen and living room, and an unfamiliar car, a red Saturn convertible, sat in his driveway. Rossi bristled, slipping into attack mode. He wasn't expecting company.

He parked a few houses away, gun already drawn, and cautiously made his way to the front door. After undoing the lock, the agent counted to three before flinging the the door open and bursting into the foyer. And then he stopped, a little stunned by the scene in front of him.

His boss was sitting on _his _black leather sofa, feet propped on_ his _19th century solid cherry wood coffee table, eating _his _mint chocolate chip ice cream out of the carton, and watching a documentary on goddamn Egyptian mummies.

"You're late," Hotch admonished not looking up from the TV. Rossi holstered his gun.

"I stopped for gas! How did you get in here?"

"I have keys for the entire team." Hotch stopped, spoon halfway to his mouth, frowning as if something had just occurred to him. "You know, I always pegged you as more of a vanilla ice cream kind of guy." He smirked, looking at Rossi. A mischievous glint played in his usually unreadable eyes. "Or strawberry," he added as he cocked one eyebrow. The other man sniffed haughtily and crossed his arms. David Rossi was _not_ a strawberry guy!

"I always thought you'd drive something with a little more balls than a _Saturn_," he retorted, leaning back against the wall. Hotch shrugged and Rossi continued. "Do you make breaking and entering a habit, or did you just have an irresistible urge to eat someone else's ice cream?"

"Neither," Hotch replied putting the lid on the now-empty container and setting it down, spoon on top. His face was familiarly serious again. He steeled himself the same way he did before walking into an interrogation room. It was time.

"Dave, you and I have known each other for a long time..." He trailed off as all his carefully planned words failed him. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously and walked over to Rossi, leaning his shoulder against the wall next to him. Rossi waited. Clearly, Hotch had something to say to him.

"I remember the day before you retired like it was yesterday," Hotch started again. Rossi tensed. He remembered that day, too, and he'd known this was coming. He just didn't want to deal with it tonight. Not _now. _Not when he felt so empty and exhausted.

"I've turned it over and over in my mind a million times by now. I knew what you were going to say that day before Haley walked in, you know." Hotch searched the other agent's face. His pupils dilated letting Hotch know he was on the right track, but otherwise Rossi did not react.

"Ever since you've been back at the BAU, we've been dancing around this. You've been avoiding it, been avoiding _me._ I don't want to play the game anymore. I need to hear the words, David. I need to know if that's still the way you feel." Rossi let out a sigh and walked over to pour himself a scotch.

"We're different people now than we were back then, Hotch." Rossi's voice begged his old friend to heed reason. "I've been married and divorced _again_. You have Jack, now. Haley's gone... You're Unit Chief of the FBI's lead team of profilers, and I do _book tours_." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"_Are_ we so different, Dave?" Hotch argued. "Do you still eat dinner outside on the porch the night of the first snow? Do you still try to explain that angel hair pasta is for pussies to pretty waitresses after you've had too much to drink?" Rossi had to chuckle at that.

"Do you still have that stupid stuffed dog?" he countered. Hotch tilted his head thoughtfully before answering.

"The dog belongs to Jack now." Rossi's smile faded, as if somehow that simple statement confirmed his argument. He looked sad and old standing in his living room silently swirling a glass of scotch.

Suddenly, Rossi's features went hard with what Hotch could only interpret as determination and maybe a little rebellion. He set the scotch down harder than necessary and crossed the room to his boss in three easy strides. He grabbed Hotch's shoulders and pressed their lips roughly together.

"Dammit, Aaron," he growled when they pulled apart. "I've spent a lot of money on good whiskey trying to forget that day."

"Say it." Hotch's voice was equally low and husky. "I've waited years, Dave. Say the words." Rossi tipped Hotch's head up, pulling even tighter with the arm around his waist. He traced the other man's lips with his thumb and looked hard into bottomless onyx eyes.

"I love you, Aaron Hotchner."

The two men collided, grabbing each other like they were drowning, as if only the other could save them and keep them afloat in the raging storm. There was a hunger in the kisses, a gentle pain in the lovemaking, and a fierce desperation in the way they held each other afterward.

As Rossi ran his fingers through his sleeping lover's hair, he couldn't recall a time when he had felt more alive .


End file.
